Swallows on the Beam
by Shu of the Wind
Summary: Three years after the coronation, a plot to overthrow the Emperor has been put into motion. Disguised as a noblewoman, Lan Fan plunges into the Xingese court—and into a courtship with the emperor himself. "You are my master," she said. "There is nothing that I will not do for you." He smiled then. "So why won't you kiss me, Lan Fan?" T for now, possible M later on.
1. Prologue: Crossbow

**Title: **Swallows on the Beam**  
**

**Author: **Shu of the Wind

**Rating: **T. Possibly M for violence in later chapters.

**Summary: **Three years after the coronation, a plot to overthrow the Emperor has been put into motion. Disguised as a noblewoman, Lan Fan plunges into the Xingese court—and into a courtship with the emperor himself. Eventual LingFan. Multi-chapter. "You are my master," she said. "There is nothing that I will not do for you." He smiled then, sadly. "Then why won't you kiss me, Lan Fan?"

**Disclaimer: **Applies for all chapters. I do not own _Fullmetal Alchemist_, or any of its characters. The manga, anime, and all of its relevant pieces, belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, without whom my life would have turned out very, very different indeed.

* * *

_Festivity in spring.  
After a toast of green wine,  
Once I sing.  
Once more I bow,  
With three wishes to bring.  
First I wish my lord live long.  
Second, I wish my body goes strong.  
Third, I wish we're like swallows on the beam,  
Staying together year-out, year in.  
_~ "Longevity Girl," Feng Yan-yi

**Prologue: Crossbow**

The coronation was a bodyguard's nightmare.

The stairs which led into the emperor's palace numbered two hundred ten—a queer number to choose, but one an ancient soothsayer had dubbed particularly auspicious—and even Lan Fan's legs were aching by the time they reached the landing. Precisely five steps in front of her, as was only proper, Master Ling was draped in the ascending imperial robes, crimson and gold, embroidered with dragons and firebirds. It was Chang work, she thought, or perhaps Liu. She was certain she knew which one it was, but she'd heard so many plans for this coronation over the past six months that all the details had begun to slip away from her, like weeds in a marsh.

Lan Fan took the opportunity, as the emperor started up the final steps—the only place in the world, she thought, that she couldn't follow him—to clench and unclench her automail fist. She felt bristly with all the knives strapped to her body. Under her tunic, the stump of her arm was acting up again. Rainclouds seemed to make it unhappy, and there were some particularly nasty-looking ones looming up on the horizon which promised a true downpour.

_Wait_. She sent the thought to the sky, hoping beyond hope that some storm spirit caught it. _Wait until the ceremony is over at least. Please. Wait that long._

There were so many people. She was only one of sixteen new bodyguards for the soon-to-be-crowned Emperor of Xing, but Master Ling had only been allowed one to accompany him up the steps to the top of the palace. She'd felt her collarbone grow hot when he'd glanced at her and inclined his head in a silent command. Despite everything they had done, despite all of the things they had been through, she had never dreamed that she would be bestowed the honor of becoming the Emperor's Shadow—because that was the only sort of bodyguard that the Elders would ever allow to come near the Imperial Shrine. Being the Shadow meant that she would be a permanent part of Master Ling's retinue, a constant presence at his side. The way she'd been all these years, only this time, it was official. It would be recognized.

_The Emperor's Shadow_.

Lan Fan shook her head, and went back to watching the crowds. Something had been pricking at the back of her neck ever since they'd left the imperial palace, and it was making her nervous. In the three months since they'd returned to Xing she'd had this feeling exactly three times, and each of those three times, something disastrous had happened.

She slipped a knife down into her palm, and waited.

Master Ling must have sensed her disturbance, because he glanced back at her once, quickly, before he disappeared into the shrine. Lan Fan stayed one with the crowd, keeping one eye on the door to the shrine—because there was no other way in—while scanning the world around them, measuring, calculating. Would anyone be so audacious?

The crowd murmured. The imperial candidate would remain in the shrine for fifteen minutes, while he was purified, consecrated, transformed into a god. Fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long for that, in Lan Fan's opinion, but then again, nobody ever asked for her opinion. They lived in a world of ceremonies and consecrations, whereas in her universe, a second could be a devastation. It had only taken a second for her to lose her arm. It had only taken a second for the young lord to transform into a monster.

Time ticked by. She closed her eyes, stretched out with her senses. There was little she could feel other than that vague sense of dread; she was certain that a few of the other bodyguards sensed it too, because she could hear them looking back and forth, cautious, wondering, whispering. The nobles, too, were muttering to themselves. One of the Yao women was crying, and Lan Fan wasn't sure if it was in joy or in terror. After all, it had been a very long time since one of the Yao had been crowned emperor. Four generations. Six decades, easily.

Beads clicked, and Lan Fan let out a long slow breath. It kept slipping away from her, this _qi_: slimy as an eel and just as quick. For an instant, she thought she felt it right beside her, but then there was nothing. It had been masked. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at the man beside her. One of the guards. He gave her a raised-eyebrow look, asking a silent question, but she shook her head and looked back to the shrine.

Seven minutes left, now, and her heart picked up the pace. He would be being marked, now, with sacred ink, a temporary tattoo painted on his back until he could get a real one put into place by the imperial artists. _Prosperity and longevity_, the words would read, in red and gold ink, and the artists had had decades to perfect their work; it would never fade, never discolor, enhanced with alkahestry. It would be a permanent part of him, a full acknowledgment of his right to rule. The legends said that if he wasn't worthy, his body would reject it. And there had been cases, in the past, of an emperor who had been poisoned by the ink, killed by the pain. She closed her eyes again and prayed that it wouldn't happen to her master.

There. A flicker. A shadow. She sensed the intent, sharp and caustic, a biting blade against her throat, and Lan Fan opened her eyes to stare at the crowd. No one strange. But it was _there_, she could feel it, up and to the right, and when she turned her head she saw the crossbow and the bolt glinting in the shadow of the temple, a small metal point sticking through an open window, an instant's warning.

The door to the Imperial Shrine opened, and in the temple, the assassin let loose. At the same instant, Lan Fan flung her blade, and leapt at the Emperor of Xing.

She hit her master like an Amestrian freight train, knocking them both to the ground. In the near distance she heard a clang of metal on metal, and the thud and gurgle of an arrow finding flesh. One of the temple masters, blood streaking down his white ceremonial robes, fell first to his knees, and then to his face, and the arrow protruded through his neck, short, thick, and barbed. Beneath her, Master Ling shifted uneasily, and she scrambled away. There was no time to be embarrassed. Around them, people were screaming. She waited until a few other bodyguards had snapped to attention, and then she took off running for the temple, taking the stairs three at a time in her rush.

_The fourth attempt_, she thought. The fourth blade in the night, the fourth poisoned cup, the fourth assassin in the night, the fourth arrow from nowhere. She drew a climbing wire from her pouch and let fly, waiting until she heard the snap of it locking around a tree branch before scrambling up and taking to the trees instead. It was faster, fewer crowds. She had a lock on the _qi _now, the oily snake, and she was right on his tail.

It took her seconds to reach the temple gate, and a breath or two more to pick out the assassin. He'd abandoned his crossbow and his head was covered, but his back was wide open as he made his way through the crowds, who had heard the screaming at the top of the rise and knew that something had gone badly wrong. Lan Fan readied another knife, and dropped down into the crowd, wishing she could be less distinctive. _Lose the mask_, her instincts screamed, and she pulled it off and tucked it behind a barrel, never losing sight of her prey. He looked noble; his hands were too soft for hard work, and his hair too clean for a peasant. He had the wide eyes and sweet mouth of a Chang, but the supple build of a Zhou. A rejected son, perhaps.

An opening broke in the crowd, and she didn't hesitate. She threw her second knife, and a third, and they struck true. The man screamed, and went down, blades deep in his knees, tendons severed, blood pouring down his calves and ankles. He landed on a girl, and she shrieked bloody murder, scrambling to get away. Lan Fan sped up, caught him by the shoulders, and wrenched him away from the little girl, who took off wailing.

He didn't recognize her without the mask. Not until she had the blade of her automail arm pressed against his throat.

"That's the fourth time," she said, through gritted teeth, and she wasn't supposed to interrogate prisoners herself, but for this one she would make a special exception. "The _fourth_ time you've tried to kill my master."

"Let go of me, you filthy Yao bitch!" He spat in her face. She felt it land on her cheek, drip down her jaw. She ignored it, and pressed closer, watching blood spring up around her blade, watching his throat work. A kind of rage was pulsing through her that she hadn't felt in a long time. Behind her, she could hear the clank of the guards, their blades rattling against their hips, but she had a good thirty seconds before they arrived. She had her chance.

"Are you working alone?" She hissed, and when he grinned at her, blood streaking his teeth, she pushed down, down, down. "_Are you working alone_?"

"You have no idea," the man said, and his smile grew and grew, until it stretched across his face, a mockery. "You have _no _idea, you stupid, useless—"

"Tell me or I'll sit back and let the guards killyou." He would die anyway—the attempted murder of the emperor was a dying offense—but he might just be stupid enough to believe her. She saw it in his eyes, the shiftiness. The possibility.

"Liar!"

"I can keep you alive if you tell me!" That, too, was a lie. At least, it was half a one. She could keep him alive for a little while, though, and he knew it. The panic was welling up in her, breaking through in her voice. This was the fourth time she'd nearly failed, the fourth time since their return home that he'd nearly died. She couldn't afford to let it happen again. She _wouldn't. _"_Tell me_!"

He wet his lips.

"You won't—"

She sensed it the instant before the arrow flew. Lan Fan wrenched her head aside, just in time for the crossbow bolt to plunge into her prisoner's throat. He choked, and blood burbled around his lips. She felt him die, still locked onto his _qi _as she was, and it was like a punch in the lower belly, like a knife twisting in her guts. He was still smiling up at her as she stood, his eyes wide and glazing.

It began to rain. Lan Fan closed her eyes, leaning her head back, and let it wash her clear of dust and blood. Under her uniform, the stump of her arm ached, and the frustration pounded through her blood like a disease. She wanted to kill something, but she'd been robbed of even that.

"Damn it," she said.

Then she turned, and waited for the guards to catch up with her.


	2. Needles

**One: Needles**

_-Three years later-_

The flash of white light hurt her eyes, even behind her mask. Lan Fan blinked a few times, trying to clear away sudden spots, as Al extracted himself from under the blanket and cast the Emperor a thumbs-up. He, at least, hadn't been blinded in the past twenty seconds. "Should come out fine," he said, and patted his camera, one of the newfangled ones he'd brought with him from Amestris. "I'm getting good at developing them, if I do say so myself."

"You just did," the Emperor replied, and for the first time in weeks one of his old smiles cracked across his face. Lan Fan almost let loose a breath of relief, but she held it in at the last minute. _Unprofessional_, she reminded herself, _to be worried about the smiles of your charge._ Still, the border crisis had been dragging on for so long, now, with all of its twists and turns, political and military, that she'd wondered if her master had forgotten how to smile completely. The first real test of an emperor, and he'd passed with flying colors. _A treaty in the library and a few new watchtowers along the eastern borders and all will be well. _They hoped. With this sort of thing, there were no real guarantees.

Al saw it, she was sure. He'd taken one look at the lines around her master's mouth and pressed his lips tight together, in a line of commiseration. But he hadn't commented, and for that Lan Fan almost wanted to hug him, even though her grandfather would have boxed her ears for thinking it.

She drew a breath, let it out slowly—and silently—and ran her eyes over the hall again. A sweep of the surrounding _qi_ revealed nothing. And of course it wouldn't: The Hall of the Pearls was the Emperor's favorite chamber for private receptions, smaller, quieter, less ornate than the rest, buried too deeply in the palace for anyone but one of the court to reach it. When the Emperor was in residence, there were too many guards around the doors for anyone to get in without permission.

"It reminds me of the reception chambers on the Yao estate," he'd told her once, three years ago, a few days after the near-disastrous coronation. He'd rubbed a bruise on his ribs, one that he had refused to admit was her fault, and she'd felt the back of her neck go hot with shame at the sight. "It's…comforting."

She'd inclined her head, but said nothing, and his mouth had quirked. "You think that's unwise."

"Imperial Majesty—"

"If you keep calling me that I might get cross, Lan Fan," said her master, teasingly, and under her mask she'd blushed a bit, but moved on quickly.

"Any pattern can be tracked," she said, quietly, her voice barely audible. It was the custom of the Emperor's Shadow—of any imperial bodyguard—to be silent, to be invisible. Even speaking in front of her charge was frowned upon. Still, Ling Yao had never been one to follow tradition anyway, and he'd encouraged her to offer her opinion—to be more than a shadow—more often than she'd ever been comfortable with. She'd served him since she was old enough to kill, and she'd never been comfortable with it.

He'd taken her advice. The Hall of the Pearls was only used to receive people he trusted absolutely. She doubted Alphonse Elric knew the honor that had been bestowed on him by being allowed into this room, and she wasn't about to enlighten him. After all, they'd managed to disguise Master Ling's preference for this hall for this long. It wouldn't do to reveal it at this late date. If people knew…

There hadn't been an assassination attempt in over a year and a half. She wanted to see how long they could keep that record.

A throat cleared. Lan Fan blinked, and straightened. Alphonse had said something to her, and she hadn't heard him. There was a faint smile on his lips as he repeated himself. "And how are you, Lan Fan?"

To her surprise, Alphonse was speaking in Xingese. Mei Chang, she thought, had been rather more enterprising than she had ever expected of the little princess. His accent wasn't all that bad, either. Then the question processed fully. She sent a quick, panicked glance at her master—even though that was illogical—and then turned back to Al. Instinct and duty were warring in her, and for a second or two, she couldn't discern one from the other. Lan Fan cleared her throat, and, cautiously, replied: "This one is not worthy of your consideration, sir."

Al looked quizzical. "But we've known each other for years."

"Regardless." Still she hesitated. Lan Fan glanced at the Emperor again. There was a smile playing around his lips that she recognized. He'd worn it since he'd been a child, sticking his nose into things he should never have messed with. He'd never been good at following protocol, not with his family, not with his bodyguards, not with anyone. _And if I don't answer_, she realized, _he'll never let me forget it. _She cleared her throat, again, and then inclined her head ever so slightly. "But…I am well. Thank you."

With that, she bowed and retreated back to the wall. She was overdue on her perimeter check. Even if she couldn't leave the Hall of the Pearls, not as the Shadow—for she would never dream of leaving her charge—she could at least have something to do for the next twenty minutes.

After all, despite its small size, the Hall of the Pearls could be a devilishly complicated perimeter to scout.

They were talking over tea when she returned, a jasmine brew that sent enough perfume into the air around to make her want to sneeze. Both their voices had gone incredibly soft, and they were speaking in Amestrian again. Not many of the court nobles had ever deigned to learn Amestrian—the only reason the Emperor knew it was because of his imperial tutelage, and because of his insistence, as a child, on studying all the languages he could. He'd even studied old Ishvalan, for a while, before his mother had convinced him to devote his time to more political pursuits. Still, it meant that not many people would be able to eavesdrop on this conversation, and in spite of herself, she felt her ears prick up in curiosity.

"—nobles are getting testy. That's what Mei says, anyway." Al took a sip of tea, and then turned the cup lightly in its saucer. The porcelain had been painted with plum blossoms, and they bloomed wild on the smooth ceramic. "I've been too caught up in alkahestry lately, it seems. There are rumblings in the Feng family that she doesn't like. She said something about the border dispute, too." He kept his voice light, but the look in his eyes was anything but. "I understand if this is an awkward question, but…is there anything that you want to tell me, Li—majesty?"

The silence seemed to stretch, a thread woven too thin. Then it snapped. "No," said the Emperor, and his voice was a whip-crack. All the good humor he'd had moments ago had vanished. He was the politician again, and he leaned forward, and propped his chin in one hand, the ultimate danger signal. "Politics isn't your world, and never was. Besides, this isn't Amestris. This kingdom—this empire—is mine. And in it, I fight my own battles. Remember that."

There was enough bite to the words for Al to jump. His eyes—those curious golden eyes that he and his brother shared—narrowed, just a bit. "Politics has nothing to do with friendship."

"One would have to agree with you there."

They both stayed quiet for a moment. Then Al scowled, and leaned back, pointing directly at the Emperor. She was fairly sure, if she'd been a decent sort of bodyguard, she would have had to cut off his hand. But the Emperor was smiling now, so she did nothing. Besides, even if it was stupid—he was, after all, an Amestrian—she trusted Alphonse Elric.

Then, of course, he went and opened his mouth.

"You can be a—" He struggled for words. "—a right bastard, you know that?"

That, she took umbrage to. Lan Fan fingered the knife at her waist, but before she could do anything, Master Ling threw his head back and began to laugh, his eyes creasing gleefully. "Why, Alphonse Elric, I don't think I've ever heard you swear."

"I swear when the situation demands it, and you, _Your Imperial Majesty_, can be a…well. A jerk. When you want to be." Still, Al grinned back, ruefully. "I get the picture. I'll stay out of it. Whatever it is. Officially, anyway. And I won't tell Ed, either, because he'd roar down here, and you _know _he would. But in return—"

"If the situation requires it," Master Ling replied, and if he had been any other man, they would have shaken on it. But he was the Emperor, and touch was now something he could not afford to offer. So he inclined his head, instead. "You have my word."

"Deal," Alphonse said, and nodded as though something momentous had just been achieved. Judging by the fact that he was an Elric, it probably had. Then he stood, stretching his arms high over his head. "Thank you for receiving me, majesty, but if you don't mind, I ought to get back to the hostel before it gets too late."

The Emperor stood as well, and inclined his head. "You are more than welcome to return whenever your alkahestry master gives you leave."

"As rare as that is." Al sighed, put his hands together, and bowed. He took his camera with him as he went. Lan Fan remained in the shadows behind the throne as the Emperor pulled a cord, and a few maids cleared away the teacups and the pot. It was only once they were gone, and the Hall was silent again, that he glanced back at her, and a smile crinkled his eyes.

"Well?"

She pursed her lips. Thankfully, that was hidden behind her mask. "Your Imperial Majesty bestows too much weight on this one's opinion."

"You say that every time I ask you something and that doesn't keep me from asking." He dropped down into the throne, and let out a breath, a long _whoosh_ of air that she was the only one to ever hear. For some reason, that made her want to smile. She held it back. "Do I have to bring up the sewer trip, Lady Bodyguard, or must we argue about this all night before I pry your opinion out of you?"

The Emperor lifted one eyebrow, still half smiling, and she wanted to growl. "You ask for this one's humble opinion on what matter, majesty?"

"Whatever you choose to share, Lan Fan," he returned, flippant. She couldn't look him in the face—that was forbidden—but she could look at the ground and glance at him out of the corner of her eye, and that was what she did.

"This one—"

"Lan Fan." His voice clenched. "You don't have to do that."

He said that every time. But it felt so strange not to. _You are the bodyguard,_ her grandfather whispered in her ear. _You are the servant. You live to protect and serve the young master. That is your duty above all. Never forget that. _Under her mask, Lan Fan wet her lips. "This—I am…unsure as to where these questions tend, master."

"I trust your instincts and rely on your judgment. I'm sure you know that." He propped his chin in one hand, leaning on the arm of the throne as though it were a barstool. "I wouldn't keep you with me otherwise."

_You rely on me wrongly, master_, she thought, but she kept it to herself as he continued. "I keep on having to say this, but still. If you have anything to say, say it. Let it traipse off the tongue. In fact, sing it, if you so desire. I don't think I've ever heard you sing."

_That _made her color, right enough. Lan Fan forced herself _not _to clear her throat. It was becoming a nervous habit, and she wasn't about to give her embarrassment away that easily. So instead, she went over everything she'd overheard—and everything she'd seen—and condensed it. "Alphonse is worried."

Master Ling said nothing, only gestured for her to continue. So she did. "Princess Chang must have informed him about the actions of the Feng in the latest border dispute, and he is reacting accordingly. The Elrics defend and protect those that they care about." Warming to the subject, despite the hoarseness of her voice—she hadn't said anything for two days, before being questioned by Alphonse, and her words were coming out rough—she continued. "But they are always dangerous to involve."

"Al less so than Ed. But still, I agree. It's why I rejected his offer. Despite obvious reasons." Master Ling rubbed at his jaw, lightly. "Disregarding the Elrics, there is little evidence of the Feng funding the conflict with the Qarash, no matter what we suspect." _We _being the Emperor and a few of his more trusted aides, including Princess Chang. She didn't count herself in that royal _we_. It wasn't her place. "There is little we can do directly to confront them, but without confronting them, the problem cannot be solved." He clicked his tongue against his teeth a few times, thoughtful. "Changing the world to match one's own design is much more complicated than one thinks, Lan Fan. Remember that."

There were ways, she thought, that the problem could be solved without confrontation. And perhaps without the Emperor's knowledge. But she would reserve those for later, blacker times, when knives in the dark would not so surprising as they would be now.

"We need to draw them out, Lan Fan," he said. "We need to find out if this was a one-time offense or if they're planning something greater. If their ambition is driving them to stupidity..." His mouth twisted. "Heavens save me from grasping, greedy nobles."

Greed. The word flickered through her mind and was gone. She wasn't sure if he noticed the way she went suddenly stiff, but she certainly saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes that was just as quickly hidden. Then Master Ling shook his head, and the court mask was pasted back on: the light smile, the blank look, the tilted head, as though he was about to ask a question. Then he stood, and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. "Shall we return? I have a party to get ready for."

With the treaty with Qarash signed, sealed, and delivered, there was finally time for things like parties again, and as much as she hated them, she had to be ready, too. She bowed. "This one follows you, as always, your majesty."

There was a long moment of silence. She rather thought his voice would be different. But all he said, in his usual light tone, was, "And what a terrible thing it would be if you didn't."

A curious thing to say. By the time she thought to look up, he'd passed her, and she couldn't see his face. So instead she fell into step behind him, staying in his shadow as they returned to the main audience chamber.

It wasn't her place to ask questions.

* * *

The Emperor's Shadow was rarely separated from her charge. In fact, the only time she did—unless she was commanded otherwise—was when the Emperor retired for the night, and that was only on the condition that the guard remain constantly tapped into the Pulse, tracking everything that happened in the Emperor's room, benevolent or malign. It made her head ache, Lan Fan thought, as she sank into the bathwater, but at least she was reasonable about it. She was always certain to change the time she left each night, made sure that when she had to leave for longer than a minute that one of the guards _she _trusted remained on duty, on hand, to help if necessary.

It had been a year and a half since the last assassination attempt, but her nerves still jangled every time the Emperor left her sight. Sometimes she wondered, during the times she was away, if he would be alive when she managed to come back. The thought always made the bottom of her stomach drop away, always made her blood chill into ice. There was little that could frighten her anymore, but the death of her lord really and truly petrified her, and she had no shame in admitting it. Besides, at least here she knew that there was no one who could use that fear against her.

She always bathed alone. It was a strange thing by Xing's standards, so it was something she always did on the very edge of midnight, just to make sure that no one would intrude. She left her clothes at the edge of the massive pool—because all baths in the imperial palace were massive, no matter where she went—and she dove underwater, holding her breath for as long as she could, keeping her eyes open so she could see the cloud of hair in the water and study the mosaic at the bottom, like a child would. It was a test for herself—her longest time was nearly two minutes—but it was also the best way for her to think, and she had a lot to think about this evening.

She submerged herself up to the nose, and stared at the wall. The Qarash border crisis had roared out of nowhere, sudden tension simmering out of what had been a stout, lucrative peace between the mountain tribes and the Empire of Master Ling's father. At first, it had been unclear if they had simply retreated out of cautiousness. After all, in Xingese politics, supporting a new emperor was always a risk, especially one who had not yet taken the Fifty Wives, not yet fathered a son as was the custom. But hanging back had turned into outright hostility.

Qarash had been testy. A raiding party had hit one of the Xingese patrols at dawn on the anniversary of the Emperor's ascension, and Lan Fan couldn't help but wonder, now, if that day—which the auguries had deemed so auspicious—was actually cursed. Considering the crossbow bolt, she wouldn't have been surprised.

No Xing man had been killed. Every soldier had held his own, and returned to report, otherwise war would have been instant and inescapable. As it was, they'd traipsed so close to the edge that Lan Fan had felt the crevasse under her feet. The Qarash government had sworn that the band had been a group of rebels, outside of the priest-king's control, something that could have happened to any patrol, not just Xing's, but what the priest-king said and what Xing's spies told the Emperor were two totally different things. _Encroaching on our territory_, one report read, while another whispered about Xingese men, women, children being captured, enslaved. There was no way to confirm it, especially considering how the nomadic tribes on Xing's eastern steppes seemed to spend all their time hiding from the empire, but the reports had been disturbing enough to nettle the nobles, and there had been quite a few nights when both Master Ling and Lan Fan had gone without sleep, the Emperor pouring over documents and consulting with his advisors, Lan Fan waiting against the wall, listening, observing, doing her sweeps.

Discovering the involvement of the Feng—or the possible involvement of the Feng—had been completely by chance. Riders in the dead of night spotted leaving the Qarash capital; a contact with Feng connections, captured on site. They would have interrogated him, if he hadn't bitten off his own tongue and died from the blood loss. Lan Fan sank deeper under the water, and untangled her hair with her fleshy hand. She'd been trained that committing suicide that way was a painful last resort. Poison pills, she thought, or a quick knife, those would be much easier ways to die. Still, she could imagine the sort of loyalty that would have led to it, and the fact that the Feng could inspire such loyalty in their lackeys made her uneasy.

The fact that they'd made four spies—four well-trained, loyal, and long-serving spies of the Yao family, men she'd known and trusted—vanish in less than four months made her downright nervous.

And now, with the Qarash problem finally resolved, the Feng had vanished back into the woodwork. The only evidence they had was an eyewitness account, a dead body with no insignia and no tongue besides, and four anonymous missing men, and that would be impossible to work with.

She washed her hair again, stepped out of the tub, and pressed her face into the towel for a moment. Then she combed her hair out, wiping away the excess water, dressed herself, and went to return to her duties.

Each emperor chose a different set of rooms as his preferred apartments. Master Ling had settled in the Peony Pavilion, and as such, security had been strengthened around those rooms. Lan Fan had been set in a smaller room, not so much larger than anything she could have expected in an inn down in the city, but that she didn't mind; it was close enough to the Emperor's chambers for her to keep an eye on things if need be, and far enough away to keep people from whispering about the proximity of the female Shadow. There wasn't much of that, anymore, but the first six months of her master's reign had been full of mutterings. Then she'd killed her fifth assassin, and people had stopped whispering. For the most part, anyway. There were still times when she felt heavy eyes on her back, and whispers came after her in the dark. _Clanless, crippled Lan Fan, the Emperor's alleyway whore._

She checked in with Gen Chang, one of the few bodyguards who ever deigned to practice with her, and ran a quick sweep of the _qi_ in the surrounding pavilion before leaving her master in his care. The night air felt fresh on her face, and she swept over the pavilion, checking the nooks and crannies and even the rooftop hiding places before she felt comfortable enough retreat to her own room and pull the door shut behind her.

The Emperor was still awake, and pacing. She could sense it, as well as hear it—the walls in the palace weren't that thick, especially not with her hearing—and it made her fists clench. Then she scowled at herself, and hung her mask on the peg she'd driven into the wall. If he needed her, she reasoned, then he would summon her, and she didn't have to worry about him. But the feeling lingered, a bad taste in her mouth as she untied her hair, an itchy feeling in her skin as she pulled on her nightclothes, oiled her arm, blew out the candle. If the Emperor was worried, then there was a reason for him to be worried. But she wouldn't have thought the Feng would be this much of a concern.

Perhaps there was more she didn't know. That thought made her belly churn.

She fell asleep to the feel of Master Ling pacing, the ripples in the Dragon's Pulse reverberating their way into uneasy, half-remembered dreams.

* * *

The next night was the full moon viewing party. It was a tradition, for Xingese kings, to throw a particularly extravagant moon viewing to commemorate the month of their ascension, but that was a few months off yet; tonight was simple and clean, not cluttered with too many scraping nobles or too many unknown faces. Still, they always put her teeth on edge, these parties. Since they were held in the gardens, there were too many places for someone to hide. Small, soft lanterns hung at random through the trees, leaving shadowy nooks for assassins to lurk in. She felt jumpy, as twitchy as that damn pet of Princess Chang's, and she didn't like it. She'd keyed into the pulse five or six times in the past hour, and still she was convinced there was something she'd missed.

Something was distracting her from her duties, though, and for once, she was willing to let it. Lan Fan stood five steps behind her master, arms hanging loose by her sides, staring very hard at the back of Master Ling's head. She was convinced, now that they had gone through the day, that there _was _something about the Qarash conflict and the Feng conundrum that she didn't know about, and that it was worrying him. There were lines around his mouth that she didn't recognize. She couldn't imagine how he'd managed to get anything past her, and that aggravated her—though admittedly her bath _had _been particularly long last night—but it was more the fact that he was concerned, and frustrated, and she couldn't do anything to help.

_It's not your place to help_, said a voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded unsettlingly like her grandfather. _You are the guard. Defend and protect. That is your purpose._

_I know_, she thought back at him, but sometimes it was wretched hard to just think about defending and protecting when the party was quiet, her master was irritable, and there was nothing for her to do but stand around and wait.

Her professional paranoia kicked in again. Lan Fan glanced at her master, and then sank deep into the flow of the Pulse for a breathless moment, trying to find anything unusual. There was nothing. _Too many nerves on you, girl_, she scolded herself, and snapped out of it. One of the young noblewomen—a girl from the Liu family, she thought—was reciting a poem to the moon, and she, along with the rest of the court, put her hands politely together once or twice before the noble girl swept a deep bow and shuffled backwards into the crowd again, never lifting her eyes from the floor. For all of her smugness, Lan Fan thought, the poem had been absolutely wretched.

"Well, that was…interesting," the Emperor said in Amestrian, and in spite of herself, Lan Fan bit her lip to keep herself from laughing. There was no one but her to hear him, considering he was concealed behind the thin silk screen he viewed all court functions through. She doubted anyone else had noticed he'd even spoken.

Then she stiffened. There was a new signature riding the pulse, a trio of unknowns. Obvious, not cloaked, which eased her suspicions somewhat, but still. She knew all the palace servants, at least vaguely, by the feel of their _qi_, and this group was unfamiliar. A set of strangers. She ran her eyes over the porches, where the nobles huddled in groups of three or four, chatting, laughing, watching the moon. The girl who had just performed was hard at work on another poem, counting syllables on her fingers. They were at the gate into the Moon Garden, she thought, and when she looked that way, she spotted them: nobles, all three of them, dressed in hues of dark green. Feng colors, she realized, and her mouth went a little dry. There was no announcer, not for a party of this size; they filtered into the crowd on their own, staying close to each other, a woman and two men who looked similar enough to be triplets.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Emperor clench his fingers together. He tapped out a pattern on the arm of his chair. It didn't mean anything, it wasn't any sort of secret code, but it told her more than if he'd turned and started shouting at her in the middle of the party. _He invited them_, she realized, and she clenched her automail hand into a tight fist. And it could be terribly, terribly tight. _He wants to see what they'll do._

Well, he had said something about drawing them out.

The Fengs were known for being notoriously reclusive, so there was no question as to why she hadn't recognized them, by pulse or face. The same age, all of them, twenty-two or twenty-three. And they didn't just look like triplets, she realized, they _were _triplets. There was no difference in their faces, in their hands, in their builds. The only thing that stood out was that the woman had a shocking streak of white in her long dark hair, and wore it to her advantage. She'd never heard of any mother being able to bear triplets and surviving.

_A hardy lot, then_.

Of course they were. And they'd been trained, too; she could see it in the steadiness of their movements, the casual way they kept their backs only to each other, leaving themselves open to no one else. All of the Fifty Families who could afford it made sure that their imperial children could defend themselves, and there was no question that these three were of heaven's blood. She could see it in their eyes, and in the tightness around their lips. Children of the old Emperor, and possible heirs to the imperial seat if anything happened to her master before he could sire a child of his own.

_And that sort of motive can drive a desperate man to incredible lengths_, she thought, _especially when the prize is so worth the grabbing_.

She kept watching them, all the way up to the edge of the porch where Master Ling sat behind his silk screen. Then the woman stepped out from between her two brothers, and knelt, pressing her forehead to the stone of the garden path. Her brothers copied her, slower, but just as graceful.

"Life and health to your eminence." She had a husky voice that would do terrible, terrible things to some of the young men around the court. Lan Fan wished them luck with her. There was something cold in this woman's voice that she didn't like. "Regretfully, we come in the place of my honored uncle, who was unfortunately unable to attend this evening. He hopes that the three of us will be adequate replacements for him for the gathering of the Families, a month hence."

Lan Fan darted a glance at her master. She could only see the back of his head, the sleeve of his robe, his fingers on the arm of his chair. They were still drumming away. "Rise," he said, and his voice was cheerful enough, at least. "All three of you. Like all of the royal cousins, you are welcome in the house of the Emperor."

The woman did not react. One of her brothers, though, scowled a bit. Perhaps he'd thought Ling Yao would have gone enough against tradition to have called them siblings. Clearly, he didn't know much about the Emperor at all.

Ling straightened behind his curtain, and gestured at the nearest maid, who came obediently forward and drew the silk back. The entirety of the court was most determinedly Not Looking at them, except for the amateur poetess, who was still counting syllables on her fingers. For the first time, the triplets seemed to notice Lan Fan, who had stepped forward with her master; the woman gave her a considering glance, and then put her aside for later. "This one's name is Lien Hua, imperial eminence. My brothers are Xinzhe and Dong Mao. We await your every command."

Master Ling inclined his head. "It is my belief," he said, "that my honored grandfather was advised most creditably by a scion of the Feng clan?"

"That is correct, imperial highness." Not the woman this time, which surprised Lan Fan. One of the men—Xinzhe Feng, she thought—flicked his eyes up and then to the side, staring determinedly at one of the imperial scribes, who was sedately transcribing one of the poems that had been performed earlier. "Our grandfather, Zhong Feng. A most humble man."

Humble, her backside. Lan Fan had heard stories about Zhong Feng's extravagance. But Lien Hua Feng only smiled politely. Lan Fan rather thought she could punch this woman in the face and the noble lady wouldn't have lost that smooth, polished smirk.

"Ah." He tapped a tattoo on the arm of his chair, and then tucked both hands into his sleeves. All cards hidden now. "You must have traveled far, and it would be the utmost rudeness to send you back to your holdings in the same night, especially considering your intention to participate in the Gathering. Rooms will be prepared for you off of the Sprout Garden." Not close enough to the Emperor to be a midnight threat, but not far enough away to be an outright insult. "Enjoy yourselves. The moon is lovely tonight."

The dismissal was clear. The Feng triplets bowed again, this time at the waist, and then they joined one of the poetry groups, mostly populated by Zhangs and Chous. Master Ling continued to chat with those who came to offer him greetings, his voice light and upbeat, his tone cheerful and cheeky, but there was a sort of tenseness in his shoulders that she didn't like, and he was sure to keep his arms in his sleeves for the rest of the party.

It was only once the moon had risen too high for any of the nobles to find it that people began to retire. Lan Fan had to trot to keep up with him as he swept off, down the nearest hallway. She could feel Lien Hua's eyes piercing their backs as the paper door was drawn slowly shut behind them.

Master Ling didn't stop walking until they were all the way back in the Emperor's quarters, and once they were there, he didn't stop moving. He pulled a cord, commanded the servant who came to the door to fetch Commander Yao to the Hall of the Pearls, and then sat down and began to write. Lan Fan stayed by the door, leaning back against the cherry wood of the Emperor's inner sanctum, and kept her mouth shut. There were times when one could speak without invitation, but this was most certainly not one of them.

"I've heard of the Feng triplets," Master Ling said, once the silence had stretched on long enough that she had started to catch the sound of the lamp, buzzing like a fly caught in a cup. "They were kept rather out of the way by their family, and it was only once my father began to fall ill that they came out of seclusion at the Feng estate to come and compete for the throne." He sat back in his chair, looked at the note—she couldn't read it from here—and then nodded to himself, sealing it with red wax. "I've never met them before. The brothers are the sixth and seventh sons, respectively. The sister is the ninth daughter. Their mother nearly died bearing them. I remember someone telling me they had to slit her belly open to be sure that all four would be saved." He left the letter on the desk. "They remained in Xing during the race for the throne. All I've heard of them are reports, but the fact that they've replaced their uncle in Feng dealings with the court…"

He didn't finish the sentence. The concern in his face was plain enough. It could be nothing, and she knew it could be nothing, but her instincts were screaming at her that it wasn't, and she'd learned to pay attention to her instincts a very long time ago.

"Do you think I'm mad, Lan Fan?" he asked, and there was a mocking twist to his mouth as he smiled. "Because I might be."

"I think you are being cautious, eminence," Lan Fan said politely. "And there is no harm in that."

Master Ling grunted, and settled back in his chair to read more reports until the servant returned to inform them that Commander Shan Yao was waiting in the Hall of the Pearls.

Shan Yao was Master Ling's cousin on his mother's side. She remembered him as a stripling boy six or seven years older than her master, the sort of cousin that would dump you in the mud and laugh, then turn around and punch another boy in the face if he dared to try the same. He'd been brilliant at war games, too. It'd been no surprise when the previous emperor had appointed him Commander of the Imperial Guard, and nobody had blinked an eye when he'd retained the position once Master Ling had ascended. Now he was married to a woman he'd met in his last tour of the empire, one of the women of the nomadic tribes; news had recently leaked that they were expecting their first child.

But Shan Yao wasn't the only one waiting in the Hall of the Pearls. She was sure that Master Ling felt the pulse the same way she did, the familiar burst of _qi _that just about screamed alkahestry, and she fought back a bit of a scowl. She should have expected this, considering Alphonse Elric was back in the capital city, but she'd let it slip. Princess Mei Chang had returned to the Imperial Palace.

There were no greetings. There was no need for them. Master Ling waved his hand, lifting the commander and Princess Chang from their bows. "Would you ward the room?"

"Already done, eminence," said Princess Chang, and when Lan Fan glanced at the nearest corner, she saw the knife stuck into the floor. It was only then that she felt the curious buzzing of alkahestry against her skin, a ward against eavesdroppers, nosy parkers, and spies. The princess had improved since she'd last visited the capital city.

Master Ling looked impressed. Then his eyebrows snapped together, and he went straight to the point. "The Fengs have sent their triplets. I need to know why."

"Other than the obvious?" Commander Yao wasn't known for subtlety. He wrinkled his nose. "I wondered why the whole place was buzzing tonight. The triplets are here?"

"For the Gathering," said Princess Chang, in her high, clear voice, "yes. I heard from one of the maids that they intend to stay at the palace for the next month. At least, that's what they told the servants who came to their rooms earlier this evening."

Lan Fan looked up. She knew that Master Ling had given them permission for the night, but to stay for the whole month…well, it had been implied, she supposed, but to act on it was rather presumptuous. Master Ling frowned at that. "Did they bring anyone with them?"

"According to my sources, only a handful of servants." For someone who had just returned, Princess Chang was wretchedly well-informed. Lan Fan wondered how many of the palace servants were on her payroll, how many little notes she received in her post each day. The idea was both infuriating and astonishing, and grudging respect bubbled in her belly. She looked away.

"Forgive me, eminence, but despite the bad taste it leaves in my mouth, they really could be here just for the Gathering," said Commander Yao. "There's no reason to suspect them."

"There's no reason to trust them, either," returned Princess Chang, and Yao scowled a bit.

"Just because the Changs and the Fengs have a long-standing feud—"

"My suspicions have more to do with four missing informants," snapped Princess Chang, "not a fight between my grandfather and that wretched Zhong Feng."

"That's what you say, but I can't help remembering—"

"Both of you, stop it," interrupted Master Ling, with a look that said _if you don't shut up I'm going to slam your heads together_. Lan Fan wished he would ask her to do it. "The past is over and done with. The future is what we have to consider now. Yes, it could be nothing, Commander, but it also could be something, and that means it could become a real problem, instead of just an annoyance."

Princess Chang nodded, and in her lap, Xiao Mei began to snore. She stroked the little beast, thoughtfully, and glanced at Lan Fan before she asked, "What is it you suggest, your eminence?"

"A spy," replied her master, and the words sent a prickle up Lan Fan's spine. _Another life to sacrifice. _"Someone we can trust. Someone we know will not betray us. Someone who is relatively unknown." He bit down on a thumbnail, and across from him, Princess Chang frowned. "We have tried lesser means, spies of a lesser caliber, and they have always been found out. They have always vanished. There is a need," he said, "for openness as well as secrecy. If the spy is too out in the open—"

"They can't disappear without comment," Commander Yao finished, and though the Emperor gave him a sharp look, he nodded in assent.

"But not someone who is openly affiliated with you, your majesty," Yao suggested, quietly, "or they will catch on right away. An unknown, unlike the last few men."

That sent everyone into silence. Princess Chang wrinkled her nose. "If I weren't already known as an alkahestrist, I would do it."

"No, you wouldn't," said Commander Yao. "You're too important to the court. You're an imperial cousin."

"And thus a cousin of the Fengs," she said, tartly. "They'd hesitate about killing me."

"So you think, but if they're here for the throne, they'd snap your neck faster than they would mine."

Princess Chang recoiled, stung. "I could do it!"

Commander Yao looked irritable. The Emperor interrupted. "Thank you, lady, but I think a less obvious choice would be useful in this situation." Princess Chang sat back on her heels, still scowling a bit, but she stroked her pet and retreated into thought again. Finally, Commander Yao cleared his throat.

"One of the maids? We've been training a few."

"The last man we sent posed as a footman. We lost contact with him in three days."

_Just chop all their heads off and be done with it_, Lan Fan thought sourly. The thought of sending another spy in to be killed by the Feng was making her stomach roll.

"A noble, then," said the princess, and set Xiao Mei to the side. The little creature yawned, uncurled, and began to scout around the room, finding interesting smells. "Or a soldier. Someone who might be relatively unexpected. Unnoticed."

"You're mad if you think a noble will take a job like that, even one of the Yaos." The commander sniffed. "A guard, maybe, but then again, a guard hanging around in noble parties might be noticed, and you can bet the Feng will do their business in plain sight. It's their style, unfortunately."

Master Ling had been very quiet, she thought, and glanced at the Emperor. He'd settled in his chair, steepling his fingers, staring blankly at the wall. His brain was buzzing, she was sure. Then his eyes snapped to her, and she looked away, but not before he said her name.

"Lan Fan."

She came forward, bowed at the waist. But no command came. Master Ling was very, very quiet. Then Princess Chang made a noise of comprehension, and the Commander laughed. "You conniving little brat," he said, and Lan Fan bristled, but Master Ling said nothing. "She's perfect. Put her in a gown and even with that arm of hers they might mistake her for a lady. Heaven knows she's been hanging around you long enough to know how the court works."

Lan Fan thought she hadn't heard right. Then she pulled back, taking a step away, smacking into one of the pillars of the Hall of the Pearls. "No," she said, and it was the first time she'd spoken without permission in over three years. She stared at Princess Chang, at Commander Yao. She couldn't look at the Emperor. "You can't be serious."

"There is no one else," said the Commander. The jokester was gone. His voice was fierce and unyielding. "We need someone _now_, Lan Fan, in case the Emperor is in danger. You know that as well as I do."

"But—"

"We need to find out if they're planning something, and we don't have the time to train someone else. We don't have the capacity to do it without the risk of the Feng sniffing it out, and even now it's a risk. If they clocked your _qi _signature earlier, you'll be sniffed out in minutes, and there's no one else we can trust to be able to defend themselves in this sort of situation."

"I—"

"Besides," he continued, ignoring her, "I think you'd do a damn good job. Don't you agree, your eminence?" he added, without glancing at the Emperor. Master Ling had his fingers laced together, thoughtfully.

"Yes," he said, but there was an edge to his voice that Lan Fan had never heard before. Ever. Not in all the years she'd known him. "More than you know."

"But your eminence—" and here she broke away from Princess Chang and the Commander, went on her knees before her master, placed her forehead to the floor. "I don't know how to be a spy. I am a guard, your eminence, nothing more than a bodyguard, I don't know how to _be _anything else—"

"I'll teach you," Princess Chang said, "with the emperor's permission, of course—" but Lan Fan wasn't listening. She would do anything to serve her master, _anything_, but this she knew she would fail and she didn't want him to suffer the consequences.

"I can't be a spy, your eminence. I would rather take my own life than fail you or dishonor you in any way, and if I must be a spy, then I may as well offer my head to you on a plate—"

"Do you mistrust yourself that badly, Lan Fan?" said Master Ling, and now he sounded almost sad. She bit her tongue rather than respond, and pressed herself closer to the floor.

She'd overstepped. Her blood felt sluggish in her veins. She'd overstepped so far she was worth nothing more than dirt, and she wasn't sure they knew that. She wasn't sure they cared. _Besides, wasn't this what you wanted?_ a voice sniped at her from the back of her mind. _To be able to help?_ But spy work…she'd once said she'd rather die than be a spy. It wasn't that much different now.

"Forgive this one, your eminence," she said, and her voice was wooden again. "This one has stepped out of place. Do with this one as you wish. This one is your instrument, majesty, and always shall be."

"Get up, Lan Fan, please," he said, and she heard a rustle of cloth too close to her to be normal, to be regular, to be proper. He didn't touch her, but when she looked up, he was crouching beside her. His face was blank in the way that said he was angry, and trying not to show it. She flinched. He noticed, and his lips tightened. His hands disappeared up into his sleeves.

"If you feel you can't do it, we will find someone else. But there is no one I trust," he said, looking right at her, and despite how it was destroying every tradition she knew, Lan Fan couldn't bring herself to look away, "more than you, Lan Fan. And if you would take this assignment, then who knows what we will be able to accomplish?"

She looked at him. Then she remembered herself, and looked away. Her hands clenched, metal and flesh against the wooden floor. Her automail arm felt very heavy all of a sudden, despite the fact that it had never weighed her down before, not even in her first days of rehabilitation. She licked her lips, and then licked them again. How could she say no to something like that? _Your master commands, Lan Fan. Obey. _"If your eminence commands."

But the emperor had one more thing to say.

"You have never failed me, Lan Fan," he told her, and then he stood up, and looked down at her with a half-smile on his lips. "And I do not believe you will do so now."

So much faith in her. Where did it come from? Lan Fan bit her lip and looked away. The Emperor didn't notice. "Princess Chang, I leave her in your care. We will have to come up with a sufficient cover story. Commander, that will be your department. A doppelganger will be chosen to fulfill Lan Fan's position of Emperor's Shadow, during times she will be unavailable. I will choose that one personally." He rubbed his hands together, and looked off into the garden. "There is much to be done and only a few precious days to do it."

* * *

A/N: So...it took a while, but I gave you 8,000 words, so hope it was worth the wait.

Thanks to tea-and-tarot-bending on Tumblr for betaing!


	3. Smoke Bomb

**Two: Smoke Bomb**

"Right, let's go over it again." Princess Chang tapped her lips with her pen, thoughtfully, and then make a mark on her paper. "What's your name?"

"Feiyan Ma." She said it dully. She'd memorized all of this an hour ago, and she wanted to go outside. Check on the Emperor. Anything. But the princess would know if she tapped into the Pulse, and then she'd have to deal with the infamous Chang temper, something she would rather not have to handle at the moment. She fingered the handle of one of her blades.

"Where are you from?"

"The eastern steppes." Princess Chang gave her a look. Lan Fan altered her accent, squishing her vowels, changing her tones. She'd spent a year with her grandfather trying to train the eastern out of her voice, and now she was going right back to it. _Sorry, Grandfather. _"The eastern steppes."

"Who are you again?"

"The cousin of Commander Yao through his wife."

"Why are you here?"

"To help her when the baby comes. I was brought here by her request."

"What is the name of your father?"

"Zaixin."

"Brothers?"

"None."

"Sisters?"

"One. Yue. Two years old."

"Mother?"

"Dead."

"Your cousin's name?"

"Suyin."

"What about the Emperor's great-grandfather?"

"Ra—" She bit her tongue. "I don't know."

Princess Chang scowled, and then sighed. "Better than before. You need to stop being so automatic in some of your responses. And remember: you don't know anything about the Emperor's family. You only know that he's just come to the throne, nothing else. You don't get much news out in the steppes, after all."

Lan Fan nodded, and refused to look at the maid that had just come into the room. She was one of Mei Chang's students as well as her personal servant, so Lan Fan was fairly sure that they could trust her, but at the same time, she was on high alert. Every unexpected movement made her want to stab something. It was only after the maid had laid out a new dress on the bed and left that the princess began to speak again.

"You've never had to learn court etiquette, though your presence here for the past three years will have butchered that somewhat. You'll have to be sure to make silly mistakes. Make people laugh at you. That will draw attention to you, but not the negative sort." She scratched something out in her notebook. "The leaders in your tribe are chosen by vote, not heritage. You have no particular standing yourself, even though your father leads the Ma. Because of your relationship with the commander's wife, you will be introduced as Lady, but no higher than that. You have no particular title. You have been trained, like all the steppe women, in self-defense. How did you lose your arm again?"

"In a fight when I was fourteen." She settled a mask of cool disdain on her face, refusing to think about the sewer in Amestris, the knife in her hand, metal through tendons and muscle and bone. "With another tribe. They've since been eliminated."

"Much better. You didn't react at all this time." She rather wanted to cram the nearest cake into Princess Chang's face. Since it was an uncharitable and unfair thought, she suppressed it. "You'll be spending a lot of time with Commander Yao and his wife when you aren't invited to court events, so be prepared for that. You will make your reports during these periods."

"Understood."

"You sound like an automaton." Princess Chang tapped her beneath the chin with her closed fan. "You'll be fine. Breathe."

"I don't know how to _breathe_ the noble way," Lan Fan snapped back, and then bit her tongue. She hadn't lost her cool like that in years, not since the struggle with the monster in her master's skin, everything that had happened in Amestris. _No, wait_, she corrected herself. _I lost my temper during the attempt at the coronation. _Though, granted, that had been justified.

Princess Chang paused, looked at her for a moment, and then smiled.

"There. That's the sort of spirit we need for this assignment. You have to attract enough attention that the Fengs will be interested in you. The Ma rarely come to court—none of the nomadic tribes ever do—so you'll be a novelty at first, but after that it's up to you. You have to attract their attention, Lan Fan, and hold it."

Her mouth felt dry. She ducked her head and stared at her toes as Princess Chang went to the bed, studying the court dress that had been laid out. It was dark blue with gold stitching; embroidered horses raced along the sleeves and seams. It looked too soft for anyone to touch, let alone wear, without it crumbling into pieces. The undergown was of soft cream silk. She was afraid to go near it. She felt like a stain in this room of silk and finery, in her dark bodyguard uniform stiff with sweat from her exercises and bristling with knives. She was out of her depth here, and always had been, but her master had commanded, and damn everything, but she would obey.

Princess Chang didn't notice her consternation, or if she did, she was refusing to acknowledge it. "You'll be announced at dinner tonight. You'll also be assigned a maid—your cover allows you that. She will be one of my people, an alkahestrist. She will keep your rooms as closely as you wish them to be kept, though at some point it may be advisable to let…intruders investigate certain objects. Keep that in mind."

Her belly rolled. She shouldn't have eaten so soon after her workout. Lan Fan nodded. "Yes, princess."

"Remember, after you leave my rooms, we don't know each other. We probably won't like each other." Princess Chang smiled a bit. "Not that that will be very difficult for either of us to pretend, don't you think? We had an easy time of it back in Amestris."

In spite of herself, Lan Fan felt a smile quirk at her mouth. "You tried to stab me."

"_You_ tried to stab _me_," Princess Chang countered, and then flicked open her fan. "If I were you, I'd go wash off. You look a bit grubby at the moment, Lady Ma. Your new maid will meet you at the Jasmine Bathhouse in an hour to help you put this on."

Lan Fan's humor vanished. She bowed sharply at the waist, and then left through the window. It wouldn't do for anyone to see her wandering around in Princess Chang's rooms, even if her face was hidden behind a mask.

They had found an excellent doppelganger for her, she thought, to take her place behind the Emperor. A man with an automail arm had been scrounged up from the army. When she'd stood masked next to him before the Emperor, even he hadn't been able to tell the difference between them. She had never been particularly well endowed in the chest, either, so it was more than simple for the man to pretend to be her without having to pad his tunic too much. She would have to offer a prayer of thanks to the spirits that she always wore long sleeves and gloves during her work as the Emperor's Shadow—the fact that she was crippled wouldn't prick the Fengs suspicions overmuch that way.

_I'll have to tell the commander to make sure the doppelganger wears gloves_, she thought, and her throat closed up a bit. Which was ridiculous. She took to the rooftops, pushed her mask up off her face, and rubbed her eyes, which were stinging suspiciously. Then Lan Fan took a deep breath and crossed the palace roofs to the Jasmine Bathhouse, which she would be using from now on.

Nobody was there at this time in the afternoon except one or two of the attendants. When she took off her bodyguard's jacket, knives, mask and entered as herself, no one recognized her, either. They gave her a towel, led her to a private room, and left her there, and Lan Fan took a very long time undressing herself, throwing her clothes into the basket that meant they should be burned. She felt naked without her knives, hidden as they were behind one of the roof beams of the Peony Pavilion. She didn't think the emperor would mind overly much if she left them there for a while. After all, she'd kept her most wicked blade close to her, in its sheathe on her thigh. She would have to cut a hole in one of her pockets to make sure she would be able to reach it at all times.

She left the bathhouse forty minutes later, stinking of perfume and with her legs and underarms smarting as though they'd been dipped in acid. The latest fashion for court ladies was for their bodies to be completely hairless from the collar down; Lan Fan had managed to dissuade the overenthusiastic tweezing maid from one or two places, but the rest had already been victimized by that point, and she was wondering now if she would ever be able to feel anything in those places again. She had never been particularly hairy, nor had she ever really cared about that sort of thing, but the way the maid's eyebrows had gone up at the sight of Lan Fan's legs had made dull color rush to her face. They'd reshaped her eyebrows, too, and, to her horror, liberally doused her in scented oil before leading her to one of the changing rooms. It was empty; even with her lengthy bath, she was early, and she ended up crawling into the window-seat, drawing her legs up against her chest, and wondering why on earth she'd ever agreed to do this.

_Because he asked_, the annoying voice in her head replied, and she couldn't deny that. Lan Fan scowled at the window. It was so strange to see her face reflected in the glass, rather than her mask. She had never had a mirror in her own room, simply because she didn't like them. It was a jolt, to see her eyes.

Spying. Scheming. She wasn't good at it. She probably never would be. Still, she'd heard and obeyed, the way she'd been taught to, and she refused to regret that. Lan Fan put her face between her aching knees and breathed, slow and deep, settling her _qi. _She'd been lectured by Commander Yao about keeping her signature under wraps, just in case one of the Feng triplets _had _done a spiritual sweep on her that evening in the garden. She doubted it—she certainly hadn't felt anything—but it was wiser to be safe than sorry, so she hid herself. Not entirely—that would be even more suspicious—but masking her signature just enough to become uninteresting, invisible, inconsequential.

She'd never liked masking her _qi. _It was like trying to block up a hole in a dam; every time she caught one tendril and stuffed it back into herself, another sprouted, seeking a link to the Dragon's Pulse. The _qi _of all creatures was woven into the Pulse itself, so that made sense enough, but it was damned irritating when she was trying to be at least semi-covert.

She had fewer opportunities to do that than she would like.

"My lady?"

Lan Fan looked around, and nearly scrambled out of her window-seat to plaster herself to the floor before she realized this court lady, drenched in gold and silk, was talking to her. She was tall and willowy, with long fingers and very pale skin—exactly the sort of person, Lan Fan thought, that would have been in the Queens' Wing in the time of the previous emperor. Thirty-something, but she looked much younger. Not only that, but this woman—this _noble_woman—was terribly exotic: she had long, curly hair that was redder than anything Lan Fan had ever seen, and even though her face was Xingese, her eyes were a strange mix of green and brown.

_Half-blood, _Lan Fan thought, and her mind spun_. _

The noblewoman saw her staring, and her eyes crinkled at the edges. Even though she'd seen all sorts of eyes during their journey to Amestris—brown and green and blue and even gold—they were still making Lan Fan highly uncomfortable. She had to fight her instinct to look away. It would be a sign of weakness, and terribly rude besides.

Eventually, the woman's mouth quirked, and she lowered her gaze. She bowed at the waist. "Pardon this one's intrusion, Lady Ma. This one's name is Niu Lu. This one has been sent to serve you for the duration of your stay in the Emperor's Palace."

Her Xingese was flawless. Lan Fan wondered if she'd been born here. She cleared her throat, and said, "Nice to meet you. Um. You may rise," she added hastily. It looked as though Niu Lu would go all day with her face parallel to the floor if Lan Fan didn't say something.

The maid glanced up at her through her curtain of curious hair, and Lan Fan thought she might have caught a tolerant smile on Niu Lu's lips. If she was one of Princess Chang's people, then she was sure to know that Lan Fan was not all she appeared to be. _And vice versa_, Lan Fan realized, studying the woman the Emperor had chosen to be her servant. She moved too deliberately to not have some sort of training outside of alkahestry.

"Thank you, my lady." She flicked open a fan, and hid the lower half of her face. The fan was made of delicate forest-green silk, embroidered with cranes; the pale silver rim matched the hem of her robes, and the seam of her underrobe, all laced with a soft creamy grey. She looked horrifically elegant and far, far out of Lan Fan's league. Or capacity to understand. "If you don't mind, now would be an excellent time to take some measurements. The clothes you brought with you are lovely, and will certainly cause a stir at court—it's been a very long time since any of the nomadic fashions have been brought to the capitol, and it is certain that people will be excited to see them—but there are other events that will require clothes that accede more to imperial traditions. Until this one has your measurements, they cannot be made."

"Oh." Lan Fan felt her hands go cold. "You don't have to—"

The fan snapped shut. "This one is your maid," Niu Lu said, and somehow it was an unshakable command. Lan Fan meekly surrendered. She wasn't good at dealing with females that had clothing on their minds.

Niu Lu whipped out a silk cord, measured Lan Fan's arms, legs, wrists, neck, shoulders, bust, and ribcage, and then wrote everything down in a small notebook she had hidden in her sash before pronouncing herself satisfied. Then she put her hands together, bowed a bit, and said, "If you would follow this one, my lady, this one will escort you to your new rooms."

She was still in her bathrobe. Her wet hair clung to the back of her neck. Lan Fan hesitated, and clasped the collar of her robe. Niu Lu's eyes crinkled. "If my lady desires, this one can take you through a secret path to your new rooms. No one important will see."

"Yes," Lan Fan said, before her instincts pricked up. _Secret path?_ Why had she not been informed of secret passages in the palace? "That would be nice. Thank you," she added, and Niu Lu shook her head.

"Do not thank this one, lady."

It wasn't a secret passage, as it turned out. It was the servant's path. Lan Fan had used these corridors before, but not in the middle of the day, and to have everyone step out of her way and bow as she passed was the strangest feeling in the world. She kept her eyes on the ground and her robes clasped together, following the bounce of Niu Lu's curious hair through the crowd of people, up the stairs, and into the guest wing, where visiting nobles lived while visiting the palace. She could sense the Fengs a few corridors away, and she crushed her _qi _down under her feet. If they recognized her as the Emperor's bodyguard, everything would be ruined.

"This one, my lady," said Niu Lu, and pushed open the door.

Not room. Rooms. Three of them, Lan Fan realized, her eyes sweeping the perimeter. One door to the Lotus Garden—_the Lotus Garden!_ a voice in the back of her mind trilled, shaky with panic—one door to what she assumed was a bedroom, and another to a smaller room that looked like a study. There was a small desk, and an ink painting of Mt. Buwei hanging from the wall. They were small rooms by noble standards—at least, she thought they were—but they would have housed twelve people back at home, or more, and they felt enormously extravagant.

She spotted a battered-looking trunk halfway tucked behind the sandalwood changing screen, and relaxed, just slightly. At least now she knew where she could hide her knives again. Then her forehead creased, because not even Princess Chang had said anything about clothes.

_If I've traveled all the way from the steppes, though, I would have brought things with me_.

She considered that for a moment, and then wondered how she'd traveled from the steppes. Her heart seized up in her throat. She couldn't remember any of her story. She'd just been going over it, less than an hour ago; how could she not remember anything? She clenched her human hand into a fist—

"Do they meet with your liking, my lady?" Niu Lu asked, and snapped the fan open again. The sudden crack made Lan Fan jump, and come back to herself. _I came by carriage_, she thought, _but I also brought a horse with me. I will go riding in the morning, and act generally overwhelmed. _Well, that would be simple enough.

_I am a nomad again,_ Lan Fan thought hard at herself_. Act like it._

"It's…big." She kept her voice neutral. Niu Lu's eyes crinkled, and Lan Fan was sure the maid was smiling behind her fan.

"This one is pleased to hear you say so, lady." She bowed again. "This one has been told by Commander Yao's footman that there is going to be a small event later this evening, in order to commemorate your arrival here. The Emperor, health to his gracious majesty, will not be in attendance, but several other members of the court were invited. But first," she said, and a glint leapt into her eye, "my lady will be presented to the emperor. How shall this one dress you, Lady Ma?"

"Ah…" Lan Fan looked back at the trunk. "I don't need—"

Another _snap _of the fan. She looked at Niu Lu. Niu Lu kept her eyes averted, her voice smooth and sweet, but there was something about her that said, _Do not cross me, youngling. _"If my lady does not wish to choose, this one has several ideas."

Niu Lu was waiting for an argument. Lan Fan wasn't up to one. So she didn't. Instead she shrugged, put a hand on her hip, and said, carelessly, "Whatever you think is best. I don't know much about court things."

This was clearly what Niu Lu wanted to hear, because she pounced on the trunk like a cat on a string, and dug through it. Lan Fan could only glimpse a few colors from this angle—orange, purple, crimson, green—before Niu Lu extracted what looked like a tent made of red and black cloth. She pulled out a sash, too, embroidered with gold, and flung that over the top of the changing screen. "This," she said, and looked at Lan Fan again. "Yes, I think so."

A _deel_. She hadn't seen one in years. It shook her right down to the core, and the persona she'd been working on dropped away for an instant. Lan Fan put out a hand to touch it, and then retracted it just as quickly. If Niu Lu noticed, she didn't say anything. She could see the _gutul_, too, waiting by the door. _Fourteen years, _she thought, and her toes clenched. Fourteen years since she'd been found, since the Huo had adopted her. Fourteen years since the raid. She hadn't been back to the east, hadn't worn a _deel _or _gutul _or thought about the east in fourteen years. She hadn't thought about them. Hadn't wanted to. And now…

_Snap out of it, idiot. Work. _She pulled her shield back over herself, settled her emotions. _Breathe. Nomads are proud and independent above all. Don't forget that. _"I'll do it myself," Lan Fan said, and held out her hand for the _deel._

Niu Lu studied her for a moment. Then, bowing meekly, she handed over the deel, and Lan Fan vanished behind the folding screen to change her clothes.

_Game on._

* * *

He was bored.

Ling drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. He had always known that the duties of an emperor could, on occasion, be boring, time-consuming, and generally dreadful, but there were some days when that hit him more than usual. Usually he could tune out the Minister of the Left when the man kept harping on about the Fifty Families and the Emperor's duty to sire children—which, to be honest, Ling himself wasn't about to deny—but other days it just rankled.

"—rgive my insensitivity, imperial highness, but the people continue to worry. History has shown us that an empire without an heir can be easily thrown into civil war—"

_Hush, idiot_, Ling thought mildly, and glanced at the Feng triplets, who were gathered at the near end of the hall, talking quietly amongst themselves. _You'll give them ideas._

"—marriages should be completed as soon as possible for the well-being of the empire—"

He was still talking. Ling tilted his head just slightly, really looking at the man for the first time in months. Shen Liu was a pudgy man in his early fifties; jewels ringed his pudgy fingers, and with every gesticulation, his belly seemed to do a jig. He sweated a great deal, as well, and as Ling watched, the man pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed at his bald forehead, and then lowered his eyes to the floor again. "—own personal belief that this matter of Qarash would be utterly solved if His Majesty—"

_That's it._ Ling stood, and tucked his hands into his sleeves. _I won't have this man trying to amend my international policies with a marriage proposal. _"I believe I have made myself perfectly clear on this matter a number of times, Minister," said Ling, and he let a bit of ice creep into his voice. "The Hall of Justice is not a place to be bantering about ideal wives. If you have a request or recommendations to make, please go through the appropriate channels."

Liu flushed a dull pink. "Majesty—"

"Hear this, ministers." A few other people perked up their heads. "It is not my intention to take a wife—or a concubine, for that matter—until the matter of our borders is completely settled. There is no point," he said, caustically, "in worrying about weddings when tensions are still so high in the east. Do you understand, Minister?"

The Minister of the Left bit his tongue, and bowed deeply at the waist. The man's ears had turned as red as curls of meat. _I'll pay for that later_, Ling thought grouchily, and sat down in his chair again. Shen Liu was not the sort of man to be humiliated in public and let it slide afterwards. Still, it had been worth it, he thought, to at least get the man to shut up for once. "Now," he said, and turned to the Minister of the Right. "What is the next matter to be attended to?"

"I believe—"

The side door opened. Red hair flashed in the gap. Niu Lu, one of Mei Chang's ladies, came forward, and whispered something to the announcer at the front of the room. Ling sat up just a bit, and propped his chin in one hand, hiding a smile. _Ah. Showtime._

"Majesty." One of the new maids—Ling couldn't remember her name—came forward, put her head to the floor, and spoke directly to the wood. "A visitor from the steppes. She begs to be made known to your imperial highness as a new member of the court."

"What are her connections?" he asked, and he didn't have to pretend to sound intrigued. The steppes? An interesting choice for a backstory. Not one he would have chosen, but still. It fit well enough. If Lan Fan could pull it off—when Lan Fan pulled it off, he corrected, _when_—it would certainly be eye-catching enough.

"Commander Yao has especially recommended her for service, majesty, as she is cousin to his wife." The maid kept her head very low, but he could hear the disdain in her voice. Capital born and bred, from her accent. The steppes people were lower than merchants in their eyes. "Shall this one escort her in, majesty?"

Ling opened his mouth to reply, but he was too late. There was a burst of voices from beyond the hall, a crash as the doors slammed open, and a rush of whispers around the room as an unfamiliar figure came forward, standing straight as an arrow. Lan Fan walked to the center of the Hall, hands loose by her sides, a knife kept openly on her hip; more than that, she stayed standing, and she looked him right in the eye for the first time in over three years, as though she was daring him to disagree with her.

It was really the most curious sight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her out of her uniform, and now it was as though a stranger was standing in front of him. She wore a robe-like dress of bright crimson, tied tight together with a thick black belt; long sleeves dangled forward over her hands. There was a fur-lined hat crammed onto her head, and high boots with long, curling toes on her feet. The boots were patterned with embroidery, and made of soft leather. She stood stiff and cold, staring at him, and he had to fight back a smile. If he knew her at all, the stiffness was coming from her own insecurity, not the arrogance she was trying to portray. He doubted anyone else would realize that, however.

_Well, there's a sight._ Lan Fan in a dress was not something that could be spotted every day. Every year. Every decade, he amended, and kept his smile to himself. He wasn't sure she was enjoying it too much.

Still, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. _If I hadn't known her so long_, he thought, _I would never have recognized her._

She stared at him for so long, he rather thought she was going to get herself executed. There was only so far one could go, after all. Then she swept herself down into a nomadic bow, down on one knee, pressing her metal fist to her chest, and lowering her head. "My name is Feiyan Ma, strength and health to your majesty. I long to serve you in whatever way possible for as long as your majesty wishes."

Whispers burst out around the room. _Insolent, _he heard, and _bumpkin_. "She has bold eyes," one woman whispered, and hid her disdain behind her fan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Feng brothers frowning; whether it was in confusion or consideration, he wasn't sure. Lien Hua Feng was nowhere to be seen. Lan Fan—no, if he was to pull this off, he was going to have to think of her as someone else entirely. Feiyan Ma was remaining absolutely still. She looked almost exotic, dressed in such a bright red; the black sash matched her eyes.

He waited for some sort of response from the back of his head, and then realized that one wasn't coming. Three years and the habit still hadn't gone away. He was hopeless as a sane man. As a human, not a homunculus. _Nice woman, there_, Greed would have said. _I want her._ And with the first half, at the very least, Ling wouldn't have been able to disagree.

She was prettier, he thought, when she was all in black and had dirt on her nose. But this, he could definitely get used to.

"You are insolent," he said, and the room hushed to silence. "Feiyan Ma of the steppes."

He saw her shoulders stiffen. She kept her head low, but not quite low enough. "I am afraid I know little of court politics, majesty. I come as I am, to aid my cousin and to serve you for as long as you would have me."

"You've come a long way for such a simple task."

She glanced up at him, and their eyes met. "The simplest tasks are often the ones most worth doing."

He didn't have to fake his smile. "Why do you present yourself in such a way? It is the custom—"

"In my tribe," she said, and there was an edge of a warning in her voice, "each man or woman speaks directly and for themselves. Forgive me for my ignorance, but the ways of imperials elude me." She rolled back to her feet, in a smooth, catlike motion that made him wonder how often she'd been practicing it before coming into the Hall. Then she bowed at the waist. "Excuse me, majesty, but I must go and meet with my cousin. I hope you will forgive my rudeness."

She turned to leave. The Minister of the Left finally found his voice again. "You insolent little bitch! Inbred little outsider! Have you any idea—"

Feiyan Ma stopped, and stared at the Minister for a handful of heartbeats. Ling couldn't see her expression, but whatever was there, it shut the Minister up right enough. "I apologize for offending your sensibilities, sir. But where I come from, people rarely have masters. Speaking directly to one's betters is the utmost form of respect. If I am to serve the emperor, as I have been told I will be, I see no point in bowing and scraping like a worm before the god I am supposed to respect and cherish more than my own life."

Shen Liu swallowed hard. His adam's apple bobbed like a fish. He kept his mouth shut. Feiyan Ma bowed deeply to him, and then walked out of the hall, shutting the door very carefully behind her. Only once the click of the latch sounded out did everyone turn to stare at their own feet. He saw eyes darting his way, and then just as quickly towards the floor again.

Ling stayed still for a long moment, playing up the tension for as long as he could. Then he snorted. "Interesting."

The Minister of the Left sputtered. "M-Majesty?"

"Grant her rooms at court," said Ling, and he stood, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "I am curious as to the state of things for the steppes people."

Shen Liu began to speak. Ling stared at him for a moment, and then turned to the Minister of the Right, Bao Zhang. "As for the rest of the requests, I will handle them later. Shadow, with me."

The doppelganger bowed at the waist, and then padded silently after him down the hall as Ling left the throne, crossed the hall, and took the opposite door, wondering just what sort of piece he'd put into play with Feiyan Ma.

Interesting, indeed.

* * *

A/N.

THIS. CHAPTER. WAS. SO. MUCH. FUN.


	4. Bayonet

**Warning: Sexual innuendoes and the toss-around of the word "whore." It may trigger some people. **

* * *

**Three: Bayonet**

She wasn't hiding.

There was an implication, she thought, to the word "hiding" that connoted shame, humiliation, cowardice. She was not frightened, nor was she ashamed, and Lan Fan was certainly no coward. Everything she had done until now proved that. Everything she had done since she'd returned to Xing had proven that. _This, _she thought, frowning at the deel that tangled in her legs and the shoes that clicked as they walked, proved that much.

So no. She was not _hiding_. Nor was she skulking, cowering, cringing, or indulging in a silly moment of useless, girlish terror. She was merely observing the enemy from a concealed position, which was the best possible spot for a spy, and there was nothing more to be said on the matter. Lan Fan settled deeper into the shadows behind the potted Qarashi plant that had been a gift from an ambassador decades ago—the plant would have long since died if it hadn't been for the palace alkahestrists—and picked at her fingernails with the short knife she had insisted on keeping on her belt. Her longer assassin's knife was still strapped to her thigh, a hole cut into the pocket of her deel so she could grab it when she needed it, but the little knife was perfect for Feiyan Ma—weathered iron and a handle made of cracked but polished deer antler. There was a small iron cap on the end of the handle, which could be spun aside to reveal a bead of cyanide, should she need it. She scraped at the dirt under her thumbnail—she'd forgotten how dusty horses could be—and kept her eyes on the crowd.

It was the Empress Dowager's birthday. The Yao crest had been painted on the broad Hailing Wall of the Hall of the Golden Lotus, in vibrant hues of gold and crimson—imperial colors. Before it sat the Emperor and his mother, and when Lan Fan peeped up through her elaborate hairstyle—Niu Lu's idea, not hers—at the imperial seats, she felt something inside her clench, hard and painful. This was the first time in the two weeks since she'd revealed herself as Feiyan Ma, steppes warrior, that she had seen her master, and the fact that he was whole and hearty was not helping her settle, like she had expected. If anything, it was just making her feel worse. Guilt strangled her guts. Lan Fan forced herself to look away. _There is no point in this_, she told herself. _You are not the only one who can protect him. There are many others, probably many far more capable than you._

She dug her knife so deep under the nail that she drew blood. Lan Fan stuck her finger in her mouth and turned back to the crowd again. Someone—and she had a very good idea of whom, considering the look of pleasure on Shen Liu's face—had hired Zhao acrobats. It was only natural, considering that Huian Yao had been a Zhao, once upon a time. They flickered and tumbled through a wide space that had been cleared for them in the Hall; guests clung to the walls like dust. Some watched. Most whispered. She could see the Princess Chang standing apart, glimmering like a child at the sight of the acrobats; sometimes it was hard to remember that she was still only sixteen. _She acts like an old woman_, Lan Fan thought, and then scoffed at herself. Anyone who had had the running of a clan as large and as poorly as the Changs thrust upon them at the age of thirteen would certainly act like an old woman, especially one who had been as bubbly and naïve as Mei Chang had been when they'd all tumbled about Amestris.

She did not wonder why her master did not act the same way. After all, he had actually _wanted_ the crown, and the power that came with it. She strongly suspected, after the limited contact she had had with Mei Chang over the years, that all the seventeenth princess had ever sought was a way to rescue her family.

Alphonse Elric was not present. She could only thank the stars for that. Lan Fan pulled her still-bleeding finger from her mouth, inspected it, and then wondered if Niu Lu would kill her if she managed to get blood on her deel. Since the answer was a vibrant and violent _probably_, she continued to suck the blood away, and kept watching. There was something pricking at her about Mei Chang that bothered her, and it was only once she saw Princess Chang turn and accept a flute of something sparkling from a servant that she realized it; Princess Chang was in Amestrian clothes. Well, not quite Amestrian, she thought; she could see the mark of Xing all over it, from the elaborate buttons to the delicate silk. It clung to her skin, sleeveless and with a high collar; it was Chang pink, and a slit up the side stretched almost to her thighs. It was, Lan Fan thought, the most daring dress she had seen on anyone, even in Amestris; she had had no time for fashion in that wretched country. At any rate, it was the most modern ensemble in the Hall of the Golden Lotus, and probably the most audacious.

Except, she realized, for Feiyan Ma, who had not yet stopped wearing deel in favor of court fashions. The difference was Mei Chang was getting compliments or avoidance, with nothing in between; Feiyan Ma was getting everything from being openly mocked to having filthy notes shoved under her door in the night. _Inbred horse-wife _was the tamest thing she'd been called so far. Shen Liu had made his mark.

Lan Fan pressed her lips tight together, and wondered: if she had actually been Feiyan Ma, would she have dared stay beyond two days?

The Feng triplets were here. When she caught Dong Mao looking at her, Lan Fan's heart skipped a beat. She sheathed her knife, and put a hand in her pocket to check that her real blade was still strapped to her thigh. They hadn't approached her, hadn't dared—after all, she was the latest court toy, the lowest of the low, not someone to care overly much about. Her daring entrance had kept her in the forefront of everyone's mind, however, even now; she still had people lowering their eyes and speeding past her, as though she was going to attack them. The Lady Suyin, the commander's wife, had a plan to get her into the Fengs' good graces, but for now, Lan Fan had her own strategies.

The acrobats finished. Nobles clapped politely. Lan Fan stowed her knife back into its sheath and emerged from behind her potted plant. Suyin was on her in an instant.

Suyin was, Lan Fan thought, altogether too beautiful to be human. The only thing that made her a woman, instead of some trickster fox spirit, was a strong nose and a small gap between her two front teeth. How a woman like this—a woman who seemed to be made of cream and ebony silk—had come out of the weather-beaten, hard-brow steppes tribes was completely beyond Lan Fan.

And then she'd gone riding with the woman, and had fallen so far behind that she'd actually felt ashamed. Lan Fan was a good rider, but Suyin and her horse were the same being. The stallion—for it was a stallion, not a gelding or a pretty gilted mare like the court preferred ladies to ride—seemed to obey her every thought. It was a magnificent black, compared to the dun mare that they had found for Lan Fan; Suyin had raised him from a colt. Commander Yao had tried to keep them from going out on Suyin's dawn rides—his wife was, after all, pregnant—but Suyin had given him such a mighty and implacable look that he had backed down. "All women in our tribe do as I do," said Suyin. "We ride until we can no longer mount a horse. Is that not true, Feiyan?"

Lan Fan had nodded, unsure of what else to do. She remembered so little of the steppes that she couldn't have possibly contradicted Suyin, even if she had wanted to. To be absolutely frank, she hadn't really wanted to. Getting out of the court had always been a deeply cherished desire, and to have a ready excuse for it—well, she wasn't about to let that pass up, no matter how disloyal it made her feel.

But there was something in her, she had thought, as she and Suyin had crested a hill above the capitol, and she had looked down on the walls of the Imperial Household, that begged for open land and for sunlight and for wind in her hair. That was what had kept her sane while they'd been in Amestris, she was certain. New land and new places to scout out, to explore. It was the one thing expected of her, in her cover as a steppes woman, that she did not have to pretend to, and she embraced it.

Of course, Suyin had a court side to her too, and it was _that _Suyin that was barreling towards her now. Pretty, plush, and painted, Suyin had her long black hair done up in an elaborate design that was probably murdering her scalp, and her gown was only _so _traditional; instead of a long skirt, it separated below the waist into two loose trouser legs, which were cinched in tight around her ankles. Her silk jacket, light and thin, was covered in the oak leaves of the Yao.

"_There _you are," she said, and her smile was all wolf: teeth, but no pleasure. "I've been looking for you, dear cousin; how easily you go astray."

"The crowd is overwhelming me," said Lan Fan, struggling to put herself back in the eastern accent she so desperately needed. Two weeks into the game and she was better at putting on the mask of Feiyan Ma—though she was still not as good as she wanted, and _Lan Fan _still beat at her core—but the accent was giving her so much trouble. It drove her crazy. "I needed a moment to myself."

"Of course it would." Suyin held out her arm, and Lan Fan settled her palm in the crook of the woman's elbow. It was the same thing any cousin would have done, the same thing any _sister _would have done, but it still felt terribly fake. "After so many years out on the steppes I suppose a place like this would be terribly crowded and noisy to you, wouldn't it?"

Lan Fan nodded, and then let Feiyan Ma have free reign. "It stinks," Lan Fan said, and several of the ladies who had followed Suyin—Lus all, with their pretty little mouths—sniffed and tugged oh-so-subtly at their clothes, lifting their fingers to smell. Suyin threw her head back and laughed, and for a moment Lan Fan hated her. Even her _laughter_ was pretty. When Lan Fan laughed (and that was rare enough she couldn't remember the last time she'd done it) she had the most unappealing sort of manly chuckle that ended with her lungs creaking. Suyin sounded like tinkling temple bells.

"It's the incense that burns here, cousin. It's new, of course, but you'll get used to it. I did. It does wear on the senses at first, though." Suyin smothered a giggle and tugged Lan Fan into one of the corners of the room, her train of Lus following like ducklings. "I'm so glad you've come here, cousin," she added, and her voice, too, dipped back into the eastern accents, shifting dialects, subtly ousting the Lus from this suddenly private conversation. "There are some people who would like to meet you."

Lan Fan did not smile, but the corner of her mouth did turn up a little bit. "I suppose I shall like these people as much as I like anyone here, cousin."

Suyin's smile was still razor sharp. "Of course."

Frankly, Lan Fan was surprised anyone even _wanted _to be introduced to Feiyan Ma, after the debacle that had been her court introduction. It had been the only thing she'd been able to think of, at the time, and it hadn't had a _negative_ effect, per se; it had just made things slightly more difficult than she'd anticipated. Suyin's Lu girls had been the only ones who had come near her since the incident, and even then they circled her like moons around a particularly smelly planet. They still gave her funny looks when they thought Suyin wasn't looking. Like now, Lan Fan thought, as one of the girls—she couldn't keep their names straight—turned to her fellow and whispered something that sounded distinctly like "_stupid half-horse bitch_" into her friend's ear. Lan Fan did not react. Letting on that her hearing was that good was pointless, and besides, she'd been called worse.

"Lead the way," said Lan Fan, and Suyin patted the back of her hand, digging in with her long crimson nails. Then she scooted around the performance circle—there were fire dancers now, with hot flowers blossoming out their mouths—and led the way towards the opposite side of the room to the Feng triplets.

Lan Fan had been at court for too long not to recognize the people Suyin found for her, even if she didn't know them by name. There was the Master of the Horse, who nodded to them every morning when they struck out at dawn for the hills beyond the city—Jian Zhang, a cousin of the Minister of the Right. He was gruff and unassuming, and Lan Fan decided to like him. She did not decide to trust him. Then there was one of Suyin's court friends, Biyu, a fluffy and charitable younger daughter of one of the branches of the Chang. Mei Chang's seventh cousin once removed, Lan Fan's mind supplied, as she and Suyin chatted about flowers and the upcoming candlelight festival. She had to be at least twice Mei Chang's age and double her girth, but there was something of the seventeenth princess in her manner all the same. At the buffet table, once Lan Fan had been (re)introduced to Mingli Chen, a shy, pockfaced noble boy who stammered when he spoke.

"My lord Chen has only been at court for a few weeks, cousin," said Suyin, ignoring the clear terror on his face; it was obvious that talking not to just one, but _two _heathen horsewomen of the steppes was a bit too much for the boy. "He is a phenomenal hand at research. Perhaps you can discuss some of the older and more—esoteric—" her nose wrinkled "traditions of the court with my cousin, my lord? My husband cannot teach us both."

To Lan Fan's surprise, Mingli Chen agreed. He had a bit more steel in his spine than she'd figured, when he'd been introduced to court a month ago. Then, she'd still been the Shadow, and she'd been able to see his knees quaking from five steps behind the Lotus Throne.

It was just when they'd begun circling around towards the Fengs that a veritable kerfuffle of young cocky lordlings sidled up to them. Suyin's hand tightened on Lan Fan's. "My lord Xie," she said, and Lan Fan's ears pricked up. Xie was not a common name at court. It was one of the oldest clans in the Fifty Families, and they could rival the Fengs for their tendency to keep to themselves. She couldn't remember ever seeing this man before. He was quite handsome, she thought, in a distant sort of way, but there was a tilt to his mouth that she did not like. "What can we do for you?"

"My lady Yao," said Xie, and he bent at the waist. It was more shallow than courtesy demanded, but it was a bow nonetheless. He did not, however, offer one to Lan Fan. "I heard tell that your cousin had come from the east to attend to you, but nobody mentioned to me that she would be quite so pretty."

"My cousin does not enjoy flattery, but I thank you for the compliment on her behalf," said Suyin. Her nails were digging deep into Lan Fan's wrist in warning. Lan Fan stayed silent. "Is there something you wish of me, Lord Xie?"

"I have something to discuss with your husband," said Xie. "But I have not seen him yet."

"Shall I take you to him?" Suyin gave Lan Fan a look that read _stay here_ before turning back to Xie. "he is not very far away. He's probably out on the balconies, he doesn't like the crowds."

Lan Fan was alone again, and she was being circled like a mouse. Four boys had followed Xie, and four boys remained behind as Suyin tucked her hand into the crook of Xie's arm and nearly dragged him towards the balcony doors. It was a test, she was certain, and Suyin was leaving her to face it, as she ought.

It didn't mean that her stomach wasn't wrapped up in knots.

One of the other boys tossed his hair back out of his eyes. He had long bangs to go with his alkahestrist's queue, and it was clear they bothered him. "Tell me, Lady Ma," he said, and meaning utterly dripped from his voice. "Has your Yao cousin taught you how to ride properly, yet?"

"I ride as any woman from my tribe rides," said Lan Fan in a quiet, measured voice. There was a great deal of Lan Fan in Feiyan Ma; since no one had ever spoken to Lan Fan in court, aside for Gen Chang, it had been relatively safe to continue using her real personality. If she had had to load a fake one on top of herself, she would have been crushed under the weight of it. "Astride."

"With your feet," another lad said, "one wonders why you don't walk."

Behind Lan Fan, the Lu girls—who had shamelessly remained to eavesdrop—tittered. They had had their feet bound as noble custom required; both feet would have fit into Lan Fan's spread hand. Lan Fan thought of the girls she had seen as she'd grown up in the Yao compound, toes curled in to the sole, bones broken by bandages that were wrapped tighter and tighter, nails growing deep into flesh, pus dripping from old wounds that would never heal, and bit her tongue.

"You clomp about like a man in those boots," the same boy said, and even if he hadn't been smirking, the way his friends were laughing told her that it wasn't meant to be a compliment. "Do all the women in your tribe act as you do, Lady Ma? Riding astride, legs spread like a common whore—"

"Really," said the alkahestrist, and he leaned forward to put his lips to her ear. His hand fisted in her sleeve. "Are _horses_ the only thing you ride, Feiyan Ma?"

Lan Fan drew her knife and had the tip pressed against his ribs before he could breathe. "You will release me," she said, "or I will skewer you where you stand, _boy_."

The knife was concealed. None around them could see it. They would just see an alkahestrist bent over a steppes girl, his mouth to her ear, as though he was telling her a secret. Only she saw the way his face had gone white; only she saw his eyes widen and felt the way his throat worked to keep himself from vomiting. "You wouldn't," he said, but there was a quiver to his voice that she couldn't quite hide. Lan Fan slipped her hand against his coat, and one of the gilt buttons clattered to the floor between her feet. She smiled Suyin's shark smile.

"Don't tempt me, flatlander."

He swallowed hard. Then he released her sleeve, and stepped back. There was a rent in his Academy jacket where her knife had been, but by the time he stepped far enough away from her to show it, she'd already slipped the antler blade back into its sheath at her side. The lads around him were confused, but when he turned very quickly and marched into the crowd, they followed him without question. Lan Fan's hands were shaking. She had never had to threaten a member of her own court before, and she didn't much like the feel of it.

"They tried the same with me, you know," came a voice, and when she turned, it took everything in her not to jump. Lien Hua Feng was closer than she'd realized, her hips braced against the wall, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She looked glorious in Feng green, and her robes were traditional, if a bit daringly cut. Her collarbones and the tops of her breasts were exposed, in a river of creamy skin that was boldly—and beautifully—decorated with vines. It was paint, Lan Fan thought, but the way it moved when she breathed made her uneasy. For the first time she checked Lien Hua Feng's hair for alkahestry braids, and found none. "The Yao boys don't much like women who won't give them what they want."

"Yao?" Lan Fan echoed, and looked to the crowd where the lordlings had disappeared. She had never met any of the Yao cousins—after all, with her master carrying imperial blood, he'd been kept away from most of the family for over a decade before finally being presented at court, and then they'd been off to Amestris. But the Yao were a large clan, she remembered, and it would have been impossible for her to meet all of them.

"The alkahestrist is Honghui," said Lien Hua, and tilted her head curiously. "The other two were Dingxiang and Peizhi. Yaos, all three of them, and drunk on their own power. They cornered me the first night I came out in public, too."

Lan Fan studied her. Lien Hua Feng was gorgeous in a way that was inherently different from Suyin. Suyin was the sun, and cresting waves, and rolling hills filled with steppes grasses, powerful and demanding the attention of everyone around. Lien Hua was the keen and glinting edge of a newly honed blade, and the eerie elegance of a lone wolf's howl—a sheer, sharp, predatory beauty that made Lan Fan's skin prickle. Her hair was down tonight, in a maiden's loose curls around her face, and the white streak was shockingly apparent. She thought there might have been a beaded mastery braid, hiding amongst all those curls, but she couldn't quite be certain.

_That's all we need. A Feng with an alkahestrical mastery._

"I should have stabbed him, then," said Lan Fan. "If he does it again, I will."

"You'll be hung," said Lien Hua dispassionately. "He's the Emperor's cousin, and you're nothing but a steppes whore. Whose side will they take?"

"I'll still stab him," said Lan Fan. "I'll just hide the body."

Lien Hua's eyes snapped to Lan Fan's, and to Lan Fan's utter astonishment, she smiled. It looked like acid. She bowed at the waist, deeper than Xie had bowed, and said, "I am Lien Hua Feng, come from the west; I offer my greetings to the Ma clan and to its scion, so far from home."

Lan Fan bowed back. "May your horses grow strong," she said, because that was what she remembered people said, at a meeting like this one. "May your family thrive and may the wind and stars brighten your path through fresh grasses until the end of your journeys, wherever they might lead."

"How charming," said Lien Hua. "Is that a tribal greeting?"

"It is the only greeting my tribe knows," said Lan Fan, and she wasn't lying. The Huo had never greeted each other. They had excelled in never greeting each other if they could help it; silent nods and stiff bows were the only concessions they had ever offered to each other. Her grandfather had been the stiffest of them all. But stiffness, she thought, had its uses, and its reasons. Their line of work demanded nothing less.

_Grandfather, I miss you_.

"You've come a very long way just to be mocked by flatland boys." Lan Fan gave Lien Hua a sharp look, but didn't say anything; the Feng woman was still smiling, and it was making her nervous. "All the way from the Qarashi border, I hear."

"So far as I am aware my family will have moved from the borderlands. Things have been unsafe as of late."

"The news has reached the capitol as well; it's even made its way to the Feng holdings." Lien Hua's eyes searched Lan Fan's face. "You surprise me, Feiyan Ma. You have none of the barbarity that I have heard comes with the steppes peoples. A loose tongue, perhaps, but no true…" She searched for a word. "_Heathenness._"

Lan Fan bit her tongue and steadied herself. Then she said, "What is barbaric in one tribe is mere common courtesy in another. As for my loose tongue, I keep my own counsel if need be. I simply speak as I find."

"You certainly shocked that old Minister," said Lien Hua, and to Lan Fan's shock, she offered her arm. Lan Fan took it, and tried to hide the fact that her fingers were trembling. "What was it you said? _Honesty is respect_."

"For the Ma, it is."

"I think I like your Ma," said Lien Hua, and she led the way to a couch beside her brothers, out of earshot of the rest of the party. Lan Fan kept her eyes fixed ahead of her, and did not look towards her master. "The court is wearing on me, and I have only been here two weeks."

"For the Gathering," Lan Fan said, and nearly kicked herself for the slip. She wasn't supposed to know of the Gathering of the Fifty Families, not after so little time here. Lien Hua gave her a sharp look, but then her mouth curved up again.

"Your cousin is married into the Yao, yes?"

"Suyin is the Commander's wife," said Lan Fan. "She has been teaching me about court things."

"Court things." Lien Hua rolled it around her mouth. "Yes, I suppose my brothers and I are here for court things. The Gathering, as you have said."

"Forgive me," said Lan Fan, "but though my cousin mentioned the Gathering, she didn't tell me what it is."

"Of course she didn't. The steppes people have never been invited into the Gathering; they are too far off, and it _is _only for the Fifty Families." Lien Hua looked at Lan Fan again, and Lan Fan had the horrid feeling that she was being measured—her possible usefulness as a link to the Yao versus her sheer heathenness, as Lien Hua had put it, was being tested. She must have not come up wanting, because Lien Hua brushed the white streak back out of her face. "The Gathering happens once a year. All of the Fifty Families of the Imperial Court—I trust you know what the Fifty Families are," she added, and Lan Fan made a face and nodded. "All of the Fifty Families send their representatives in a massive parliament, where political, economic, and interfamilial concerns will be raised before His Imperial Majesty—life, health, and strength to his name—for his consideration."

Lan Fan could detect no disdain or even dislike in Lien Hua's voice when she spoke of the Emperor. But then again, the woman's eyes were like mirrors; Lan Fan could see no emotion in them, just her own pasty reflection. It was very unnerving. She licked her lips. "Then since you have come for the Gathering, you are to be the Feng representatives?"

"My brothers and I have come from the west in order to replace our esteemed grandfather at the Gathering, yes." She sighed a bit. "He has been ill, as of late, and the journey would have been too taxing on his health to come all the way to the capitol city. He named my brothers in his place, and they were kind enough to allow me to come along. After all, it is the first chance I have ever had to come to court."

_Liar_, she thought, as Lien Hua smiled again. Lan Fan doubted that her brothers _let _Lien Hua Feng do anything. Besides, they were all imperial cousins. But Feiyan Ma wouldn't know that; Lien Hua Feng had not introduced herself as princess, and Suyin would not have had time to tell her. So she pursed her lips and nodded, keeping her face blank. (It was the one thing she _was _very good at, aside from knives.) "I see."

"You come in similar circumstances," said Lien Hua. "Your cousin is with child, I hear."

"Only a month or two. It is her first baby, and she wished for someone from home to be with her when it came."

"So I can trust you will be here for the next nine months, at least?"

"Unless I am called back east, or dismissed by my cousin or her husband, I will be here as long as it takes."

"I see." Lien Hua mulled that over too. Then she tilted her head, like a cat scenting blood. "I find I like you, Feiyan Ma. My brothers and I will soon be attending a horse race, just outside the Imperial Palace; a group of us will be going. No Yaos," she added, "though your cousin is welcome to come if she wishes." The commander, Lan Fan noted, was not included in the invitation. "I find that the stagnation of the imperial court wearies me, and I turn to more…well, the word would perhaps be _plebian_, but I find that _rough _suits me better. I turn to rougher pursuits. As a horsewoman yourself, I believe it might be of interest to you to join us."

Lan Fan thought about it, but inside her heart had leapt into her throat. She had imagined, in getting close to the Fengs, that she would have to worm her way into their rooms and dealings, not be outright invited, like an actual guest. Her instincts were screaming at her to decline—that acid smile was back, and it made her think of death and pain and very, very bad things—but even if Lien Hua was trying to extract information on Yao clan dealings or, at the very worst, lead her into a trap, Lan Fan could take care of herself.

She did not look at the Imperial Throne.

"I think," she said, "that that would be a godsend."

"Good," said Lien Hua Feng, and patted Lan Fan's knee through the deel. Then she stood. "I will send you a dove with the details in the morning. For now, I have to keep my brothers from drinking themselves into oblivion." She rolled her eyes towards the heavens. "Men. I shall see you soon, I think, Feiyan Ma."

"Your courtesy overwhelms me, Lien Hua Feng," said Lan Fan, and Lien Hua raised a hand in acknowledgment as she turned and headed towards the wine glasses. It was only once she was out of sight that Lan Fan closed her eyes, let out a breath, and stood to look for Suyin.

Her hands were shaking like leaves in her pockets.

* * *

**A/N:**

So, no Ling this chapter, but he'll crop up soon enough.

I apologize for taking so long with my updates. I was in Japan for the vast majority of the time between the last update and now, and in the middle of my very busy schedule my computer shut down, taking with it everything that I had worked out for this story and more than half of the next few chapters. it was quite a blow (I lost a personal and original NaNoWriMo project as well, along with almost every other story I'm working on, currently) so it took a long time for me to work myself back into writing, from an emotional standpoint. Rest assured that _Swallows on the Beam _is not abandoned, and as soon as I get my hands on the entirety of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, which should be soon, I should have a few more chapters up.

I am working on other projects as well, however, so I will probably end up rotating updates. You have been warned.

Note: This chapter was unbetaed. I do have a beta or two waiting in the wings (thank you to ocha-no-deathscythe on Tumblr and LittleMissSophie here on FFnet) but I was awake enough to read through it myself and I wanted to get this up as quickly as I could, because y'all have waited long enough. (Plus, LittleMissSophie hasn't given me her email address yet for me to send stuff to. ;) Love you, dear.)

Thank you all very much for your patience. Your support has been utterly overwhelming; I can only hope I shall continue to live up to expectations.


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